


Pub Crawl

by Synthtraitor



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Reader Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synthtraitor/pseuds/Synthtraitor
Summary: Your Brother convinces Connor to go out on a pub crawl with a few of his friends. The two brave heroes return home worse for wear.
Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 64





	Pub Crawl

Connor opens his mouth, closes it, reviews all his options, then begins imploringly: “Don’t worry-”

“I mean, I’m a little worried, Connor,” you say into the receiver, passing your phone from one ear to the other to free up your right hand, “you’re basically giving me a huge disclaimer about how you might or might not have definitely, finally, for real this time killed my brother.”

“He’s fine,” Connor says quickly, and then he wheezes and pulls the phone away from his face. You hear him shout your brother’s name, begin cussing and then you’re yanking your own phone away from your ear as the sound of fabric dragging across the microphone makes your speaker pop. You ease the phone back to the side of your face when you hear Connor’s voice begin again at a normal volume, “- fine, really, we’re both fine. He’s just… A little…”

You stir the pasta sauce, “a little…?”

“Drunk?” Connor probes, voice pitched. You frown, and set down your wooden spoon. “Inebriated,” he tries again.

“Connor,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, his name clipped under your frustration, “drunk or, like, wasted?”

“Yes.”

“Trashed?”

“Definitely.”

“On a scale from one to ten-”

“Oh, yea,” Connor breathes, “Ten. Very…” You hear your brother’s obnoxious laugh in the background and cringe, “… Very… Ten. Ten point nine, nine. Eleven?”

You suddenly have a very, very large headache. “Do you need a ride?”

“I’ve already called a cab, I just don’t think it would be wise to leave him unsupervised.”

“He can crash here for the night. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,” is Connor’s easy reply. With the phone now on speaker, you begin ferrying dirty cutting boards and pans to the sink as he helps your brother into the taxi. You hear the echo of a struggle and then a car door snaps shut. Connor’s voice is muffled as he announces your address, then drops and draws closer when he says, “but what if he hears something?”

His tone makes you pause, and give the phone a look, “what would he hear?” You almost don’t want to ask.

“… You know.” You can practically hear the cogs in his brain turning, see the waggle of his eyebrows and the stupid smirk he wears when he’s thinks he’s seducing you with his android wiles. Good to know that if his coherency is anything to go by, Connor is also, very, very a ten point nine, nine on the wasted scale. Cyberlife and their quality of life updates, you’re starting to question the motives behind letting androids get drunk.

“Is this some sort of weird, new flirting technique?” 

“Why, is it working? 

“Bring my brother home in one piece and we’ll see.”

Connor laughs something elated, and then says, “alright, we’ll be home in ten minutes.”

Connor shows up fifteen minutes later, his key scraping as he tries to unlock the front door. You’re halfway through the living room to help him with the lock when you hear a thump, and then the door hits the opposite wall as it’s opened. Connor’s standing there, lopsided and framed in perfect lighting. He’s got his sleeves rolled up, jacket thrown over an arm and his collar uneven and he gives you a charming smile before stepping through the threshold and into the apartment.

“Where’s-” before you can ask him where your brother is, he’s closed the distance between the two of you in two deliberate steps and is kissing you. He smells like a bar, and you realize quickly that he tastes like one too. You suck in a shaky breath and return the kiss. 

A steady hand cups the side of your face, pushes back and cards fingers through your hair until he’s dragging you closer to him, and another curls around your waist, sneaking under the waist of your shirt. You can’t help but smile when he catches your bottom lip between his teeth, trying to get you to open up to him, kiss turning amorous and heavy – and he’s practically begging you to make out with him, hungry and eager, his hands chart the curve of your back, and you’re about to give in to his unspoken demands until you spy the open door and remember that he was supposed to be playing delivery boy tonight. 

“Connor,” you murmur against his lips, and he groans, then tries to walk you back towards the couch. You laugh as he slides both hands down to your body. His fingers curl into the meat of your thighs, and you know he wants to pull you up so your legs are wrapped around his waist, but you don’t offer him any assistance. “Connor,” his rounded nails drag across your bare skin; you push him back with a hand on his chest, grinning, “where’s my brother?”

“Oh,” he says quietly.

Your smile grows exponentially as you witness him go through all five stages of grief.

He drags himself away from you, and walks back to the front door. You watch with interest as he reaches down, and pulls your unconscious brother from somewhere out of sight in the hallway, tossing him over a shoulder. “Where do you want him?”

“Couch. I’m gonna go get him a pillow and blanket.”


End file.
